She had not ridden for five years. Her figure had grown stouter, the stitches of the habit gave way, some of the hooks were missing. ‘Never mind, Matéa, never mind.’ She went down the staircase with the train over her arm, between the footmen who stood with blank looks of astonishment, and set off full speed down the avenue, through the gate, into the road, into the wood, and down the cool green paths and long avenues, where the wild creatures fluttered and leapt away as she galloped madly by. She must and will have him. He is her death and life. She has tasted love; and what else does the world contain? Leaning forward, she listens for the sound of the train and watches in every distant view for the steam skirting the horizon. If only she is in time! Poor thing! She might let her horse walk, and yet she would overtake that handsome runaway He is her evil genius, and he is not to be escaped. [Illustration: down the cool gree paths and long avenues 298] CHAPTER XIV. From the Vicomte de Freydet To Mademoiselle Germaine de Freydet Villa Beauséjour, Paris-Passy. _Café d’Orsay: 11 A.M. at breakfast._ EVERY two hours, and oftener if I can, I shall send you off an interim despatch like this, as much to relieve your anxiety, dearest, as for the pleasure of being with you throughout this great day, which I hope will end with the news of victory, in spite of defections at the last moment. Picheral told me just now of a saying of Laniboire’s, ‘When a man enters the Académie he wears a sword, but he does not draw it.’ an allusion, of course, to the Astier duel. It was not I who fought, but the creature cares more for his jest than for his promise. Cannot count on Danjou, either. After having said so often to me, ‘You must join us,’ this morning in the secretary’s office he came up to me and whispered, ‘You should let us miss you,’ perhaps the best epigram on his list. Never mind, I’m well ahead. My rivals are not formidable Fancy Baron Huchenard, the author of ‘Cave Man,’ in the Académie Française! Why, Paris would rise! As for M. Dalzon, I can’t think how he has the face. I have got a copy of his too notorious book. I do not like to use it, but he had better be careful. _2 P.M._